War and Peace : Book 01, Chapter 15

1869

People

(1828 - 1910) ~ Father of Christian Anarchism : In 1861, during the second of his European tours, Tolstoy met with Proudhon, with whom he exchanged ideas. Inspired by the encounter, Tolstoy returned to Yasnaya Polyana to found thirteen schools that were the first attempt to implement a practical model of libertarian education. (From : Anarchy Archives.) • "...the dissemination of the truth in a society based on coercion was always hindered in one and the same manner, namely, those in power, feeling that the recognition of this truth would undermine their position, consciously or sometimes unconsciously perverted it by explanations and additions quite foreign to it, and also opposed it by open violence." (From : "A Letter to a Hindu: The Subjection of India- Its....) • "...for no social system can be durable or stable, under which the majority does not enjoy equal rights but is kept in a servile position, and is bound by exceptional laws. Only when the laboring majority have the same rights as other citizens, and are freed from shameful disabilities, is a firm order of society possible." (From : "To the Czar and His Assistants," by Leo Tolstoy, ....) • "If, in former times, Governments were necessary to defend their people from other people's attacks, now, on the contrary, Governments artificially disturb the peace that exists between the nations, and provoke enmity among them." (From : "Patriotism and Government," by Leo Tolstoy, May 1....)

CHAPTER XV

“My dear Borís,” said Princess Anna Mikháylovna to her son as Countess
Rostóva’s carriage in which they were seated drove over the straw covered
street and turned into the wide courtyard of Count Cyril Vladímirovich
Bezúkhov’s house. “My dear Borís,” said the mother, drawing her hand from
beneath her old mantle and laying it timidly and tenderly on her son’s
arm, “be affectionate and attentive to him. Count Cyril Vladímirovich is
your godfather after all, and your future depends on him. Remember that, my
dear, and be nice to him, as you so well know how to be.”

“If only I knew that anything besides humiliation would come of it...”
answered her son coldly. “But I have promised and will do it for your
sake.”

Although the hall porter saw someone’s carriage standing at the entrance,
after scrutinizing the mother and son (who without asking to be announced
had passed straight through the glass porch between the rows of statues in
niches) and looking significantly at the lady’s old cloak, he asked
whether they wanted the count or the princesses, and, hearing that they
wished to see the count, said his excellency was worse today, and that his
excellency was not receiving anyone.

“We may as well go back,” said the son in French.

“My dear!” exclaimed his mother imploringly, again laying her hand on his
arm as if that touch might soothe or rouse him.

Borís said no more, but looked inquiringly at his mother without taking
off his cloak.

“My friend,” said Anna Mikháylovna in gentle tones, addressing the hall
porter, “I know Count Cyril Vladímirovich is very ill... that’s why I have
come... I am a relation. I shall not disturb him, my friend... I only need
see Prince Vasíli Sergéevich: he is staying here, is he not? Please
announce me.”

The hall porter sullenly pulled a bell that rang upstairs, and turned
away.

“Princess Drubetskáya to see Prince Vasíli Sergéevich,” he called to a
footman dressed in knee breeches, shoes, and a swallow-tail coat, who ran
downstairs and looked over from the halfway landing.

The mother smoothed the folds of her dyed silk dress before a large
Venetian mirror in the wall, and in her trodden-down shoes briskly
ascended the carpeted stairs.

“My dear,” she said to her son, once more stimulating him by a touch, “you
promised me!”

The son, lowering his eyes, followed her quietly.

They entered the large hall, from which one of the doors led to the
apartments assigned to Prince Vasíli.

Just as the mother and son, having reached the middle of the hall, were
about to ask their way of an elderly footman who had sprung up as they
entered, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned and Prince Vasíli
came out—wearing a velvet coat with a single star on his breast, as
was his custom when at home—taking leave of a good-looking,
dark-haired man. This was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, Lorrain.

“Then it is certain?” said the prince.

“Prince, humanum est errare, * but...” replied the doctor,
swallowing his r’s, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French
accent.

* To err is human.

“Very well, very well...”

Seeing Anna Mikháylovna and her son, Prince Vasíli dismissed the doctor
with a bow and approached them silently and with a look of inquiry. The
son noticed that an expression of profound sorrow suddenly clouded his
mother’s face, and he smiled slightly.

“Ah, Prince! In what sad circumstances we meet again! And how is our dear
invalid?” said she, as though unaware of the cold offensive look fixed on
her.

Prince Vasíli stared at her and at Borís questioningly and perplexed.
Borís bowed politely. Prince Vasíli without acknowledging the bow turned
to Anna Mikháylovna, answering her query by a movement of the head and
lips indicating very little hope for the patient.

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Anna Mikháylovna. “Oh, how awful! It is
terrible to think.... This is my son,” she added, indicating Borís. “He
wanted to thank you himself.”

Borís bowed again politely.

“Believe me, Prince, a mother’s heart will never forget what you have done
for us.”

“I am glad I was able to do you a service, my dear Anna Mikháylovna,” said
Prince Vasíli, arranging his lace frill, and in tone and manner, here in
Moscow to Anna Mikháylovna whom he had placed under an obligation,
assuming an air of much greater importance than he had done in Petersburg
at Anna Schérer’s reception.

“Try to serve well and show yourself worthy,” added he, addressing Borís
with severity. “I am glad.... Are you here on leave?” he went on in his
usual tone of indifference.

“I am awaiting orders to join my new regiment, your excellency,” replied
Borís, betraying neither annoyance at the prince’s brusque manner nor a
desire to enter into conversation, but speaking so quietly and
respectfully that the prince gave him a searching glance.

“That is, with Ilyá Rostóv who married Nataly Shinshiná,” said Anna
Mikháylovna.

“I know, I know,” answered Prince Vasíli in his monotonous voice. “I never
could understand how Nataly made up her mind to marry that unlicked bear!
A perfectly absurd and stupid fellow, and a gambler too, I am told.”

“But a very kind man, Prince,” said Anna Mikháylovna with a pathetic
smile, as though she too knew that Count Rostóv deserved this censure, but
asked him not to be too hard on the poor old man. “What do the doctors
say?” asked the princess after a pause, her worn face again expressing
deep sorrow.

“They give little hope,” replied the prince.

“And I should so like to thank Uncle once for all his kindness to
me and Borís. He is his godson,” she added, her tone suggesting that this
fact ought to give Prince Vasíli much satisfaction.

Prince Vasíli became thoughtful and frowned. Anna Mikháylovna saw that he
was afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Bezúkhov’s fortune, and
hastened to reassure him.

“If it were not for my sincere affection and devotion to Uncle,”
said she, uttering the word with peculiar assurance and unconcern, “I know
his character: noble, upright ... but you see he has no one with him
except the young princesses.... They are still young....” She bent her
head and continued in a whisper: “Has he performed his final duty, Prince?
How priceless are those last moments! It can make things no worse, and it
is absolutely necessary to prepare him if he is so ill. We women, Prince,”
and she smiled tenderly, “always know how to say these things. I
absolutely must see him, however painful it may be for me. I am used to
suffering.”

Evidently the prince understood her, and also understood, as he had done
at Anna Pávlovna’s, that it would be difficult to get rid of Anna
Mikháylovna.

“Would not such a meeting be too trying for him, dear Anna Mikháylovna?”
said he. “Let us wait until evening. The doctors are expecting a crisis.”

“But one cannot delay, Prince, at such a moment! Consider that the welfare
of his soul is at stake. Ah, it is awful: the duties of a Christian...”

A door of one of the inner rooms opened and one of the princesses, the
count’s niece, entered with a cold, stern face. The length of her body was
strikingly out of proportion to her short legs. Prince Vasíli turned to
her.

“Well, how is he?”

“Still the same; but what can you expect, this noise...” said the
princess, looking at Anna Mikháylovna as at a stranger.

“Ah, my dear, I hardly knew you,” said Anna Mikháylovna with a happy
smile, ambling lightly up to the count’s niece. “I have come, and am at
your service to help you nurse my uncle. I imagine what you have
gone through,” and she sympathetically turned up her eyes.

The princess gave no reply and did not even smile, but left the room as
Anna Mikháylovna took off her gloves and, occupying the position she had
conquered, settled down in an armchair, inviting Prince Vasíli to take a
seat beside her.

“Borís,” she said to her son with a smile, “I shall go in to see the
count, my uncle; but you, my dear, had better go to Pierre meanwhile and
don’t forget to give him the Rostóvs’ invitation. They ask him to dinner.
I suppose he won’t go?” she continued, turning to the prince.

“On the contrary,” replied the prince, who had plainly become depressed,
“I shall be only too glad if you relieve me of that young man.... Here he
is, and the count has not once asked for him.”

He shrugged his shoulders. A footman conducted Borís down one flight of
stairs and up another, to Pierre’s rooms.